I’m a knitter, spinner, and fearless warrior in the coming Zombie Apocalypse. What can I say? I multi-task...

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Sheep Tales.

Gather 'round your Auntie Sheepie, my dears. Help yourself to a little eggnog...no, not that bowl! That's the one that Auntie spiked with the NyQuil to get herself through the marathon gift-wrapping session today. The one next to it is the one for my little guests tonight. And please try one of my sugar cookies! I baked them just for you. Hey...I see you making eyes at that box of chocolates! Don't even think about it! I said, "sugar cookies!" There you go, sweetie. Now, let's all snuggle by the fire so that Auntie Sheepie can tell you a little Christmas story. And when I say, "Christmas Story," I mean something that happened on Friday that I forgot to tell you. But, I figure that if I tweak it a bit and add a few festive references I can pull it off. If nothing else, it will be instructional. And we can just call that Auntie's gift to you.

Are we all settled in? Okey-dokey...here we go. Let me tell you the Tale Of The Traveling Sock.

Once upon a time there was a very tired Sheep who returned home on a Friday after somehow making it through a week of teaching. This was no ordinary week. Noooooo...it was the week before a school vacation. And there were lots of excited children and many, many parties. But it was all behind her and she was settled in for a relaxing evening with her two favorite kitties and a big glass of Mountain Dew. Suddenly, she heard a sound!

Ever alert, The Sheep looked around her living room to see what, perchance, had made this sound. For you see, this Sheep was afflicted with a paralyzing fear of zombies and was often convinced that the walking dead were finally coming to get her. Ah...had this only been the case. T'would have been preferable to what she saw.

The sound, it seems, was the gentle beating of a size 1 wooden dpn as it "ticked" repeatedly against the treadle of a Jensen Tina II spinning wheel. And this was not where this sock had started the evening. It had been in the sock bag at her feet. What, pray tell, might have happened???

The Sheep looked down at her feet to see a trail of handpainted sock yarn. Her eyes followed this yarn as it snaked across her living room, around the coffee table and to the half-finished sock as it flung itself upon the wheel. It then traveled past the sock to a point in the middle of the room. It ended at the rear right foot of a certain Big, Fluffy Kitty who was laying there looking most perplexed as to how she might have become tethered in such a fashion.

Now, a Sheep's first instinct in this type of situation is to leap up, flap her arms wildly and shout,

Oh, my God, oh, my God!!! Do not move!!! Stay right there!! Santa will not come if you move a single inch from that spot...he is watching, don't you forget it!! You stay there and Mommy will come rescue the sock...um, I mean, you! Please, for the love of all that is woolly and good: Just! Dont! Move!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cats, of course, have small, but rather complex brains. They are capable of taking the above statements and instantly translating them into the following:

Run!!!!!! Run like the wind!! Run as you have never run before, Big, Fluffy Kitty! Preferably around several pieces of furniture! And it would also be cool if you could even make it into several different rooms! Fly, furry creature! Fly!!!!!!!!!

The Sheep did see bad things in store for her little sockling. But she was a wise and learned mother of kitties and knew that either of the above statements could be made provided they were said in a soft and sing-songy kind of voice. And if she could manage to turn all "L's" into "W's" then so much the better for the Widdle Sockie. She took a deep breath, ceased her flapping then began her siren song to the flustered kitty.

And, thus, the sock was saved.

The Sheep returned the sock to its sock bag, petted her flustered kitty and took a big slug of Mountain Dew. And from somewhere on high a song was heard. For every time a sock is saved, an angel gets its wings.

The End

Wasn't that a special holiday story, dear ones? I do hope you enjoyed it. Well, it seems that you've somehow managed to clean me out of cookies 'n nog. You must have been hungry little munchkins! I certainly hope that you've saved some appetite for your Christmas dinner. I suppose it is time for you all to go home and ready yourselves for bed as Santa will not come if you aren't asleep at a reasonable hour. Let's get you all into your coats and boots. Don't worry about getting the right mittens. Mommies don't really care. They are used to you having mismatched ones that have someone else's' initials in them. Seriously...let's pick up the pace here. Sheesh! Ok...now, off you go. Oh, wait! Before you head out into the cold Maine night (which is actually a sweltering 45 degrees and so unseasonable that none of us really know quite how to deal with it) let me leave you with some fibery goodness to give you happy holiday thoughts to carry you through the journey:

About Me

I am a forty-something fiber-freak living in the wilds of Maine. My goals in life include: ridding my home of knitting UFOs, inventing an intraveneous coffee drip and growing old to become the crazy cat lady on my street. You know the one: 10-45 cats, nobody ever really gets a good look at her, just that fleeting glimpse as she screams at the neighborhood children to get off her lawn and about whom local legends abound.